Live Every Day of Your Life
by idearlylovealaugh
Summary: A collection of drabbles: moments in the lives of Ron and Hermione. Ratings vary and are posted in individual chapters.
1. Otherwise Engaged

_Originally written for OTP Day 2017 on tumblr. Rated T._

 **Otherwise Engaged**

To be honest, the events of the last half-hour were something of a blur to Ron Weasley.

He had asked, she had tackled him, there had been a fair amount of snogging (on the floor, where they landed), there had been some laughter and a few tears, quite a bit more snogging, and then her overflowing excitement and need to talk about the engagement had dragged them up to their current position on the sofa in their flat: him, still experiencing the aftershocks of deeply-desired success, and her, mind and mouth running a mile a minute with eager planning.

 _She said yes. SHE SAID YES. To me. Ron Weasley. Actual Ron bloody Weasley. For forever!_

The wonderful, almost-improbable chorus seemed to be running in a loop in his head, pushing out any other rational thought. Of course, he hadn't expected her to say _no_ , exactly, but… still. The release of several months of compounded nerves - and the warm, sweet-smelling lapful of freshly-minted fiancée - made it fairly hard to focus and he forced himself to pay better attention.

"Maybe I should call them?" Hermione was saying. "But it'd be so much more fun to tell them in person! It _is_ getting late, though, and they usually turn in early. We could go over tomorrow, before going to the Burrow," she chattered happily.

Ron's face already felt sore from the amount of smiling he had done in the past thirty minutes, and watching Hermione's enthusiasm was doing nothing to relieve it. "Yeah, definitely we can. But just so you know, I've already told them."

Hermione looked up at him in confusion. "What? How?"

"No, I mean talked with them before. Before I asked you," Ron clarified.

Hermione stared at him. "You did?" she asked blankly.

"Well, yeah. Not to ask permission or anything," he explained hastily, trying desperately to remember, through his happy haze, the particulars of several heated diatribes he had heard Hermione deliver to various unsuspecting and ill-advised individuals who had tried to condescendingly educate her on "traditional" wizarding family values. "I know you're your own person and you're not anyone's, er, cattle.

"Chattel," she corrected instinctively. "But actually, it amounts to about this same thing."

"Right. Anyway, your parents. They've been pretty good about… well, about us, and about me, considering. My family already considers _you_ family, and I thought your parents should know that they'd be family, too. I wanted them to know what was going on and, uh, hopefully be happy about it," he finished uneasily as she continued to stare. Oh sweet Merlin's pants, he knew he wasn't completely up on muggle customs - had he committed some kind of inexcusable blunder? "Was that _mphfk…"_

Any further temporizing was forcefully cut off by Hermione's lips, applied forcefully in one of his very favorite ways. She pulled back after a few moments, still gripping the front of his shirt tightly in her balled fists.

"You wanted my parents to feel included; you know how much that means to me," she said wonderingly, looking at him with watery eyes. " _And_ you remember what I said to that miserable harpy!"

"'Course I do. She looked like she swallowed a dungbomb, it was wicked." He eyed her carefully. "So that was an OK thing to do?"

"More than OK. It was lovely."

Ron barked out a laugh. "Actually, it was bloody terrifying,"

Hermione smiled at him knowingly. "So," she began archly, "do I get the pleasure of announcing this at all, or does everyone else already know?"

"Well, George knows, because he saw the ring box. Long story," he added darkly. Hermione lips twitched at the look on his face. "And I might have mentioned it to Harry. But they only knew it was going to happen _eventually_. They didn't know about it happening now."

"Harry!" she exclaimed, jumping up and tugging on his arm. "We've _got_ to tell Harry first. I think he and Ginny were going out tonight, do you think they're home?

Ron tipped his head back and forth exaggeratedly, pretending to consider. "Mmmm, maybe. You know Ginny likes to drag him out dancing. Better give it a bit, just to make sure." He let Hermione pull him up, wrapping his arms around her body tightly. "In the meantime, I think we've got a bit more celebrating to do, if you'd care to follow me?" he asked, inclining his head toward their bedroom and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Hermione shook her head at his cheesiness, but the smile she gave him was genuine. "Yes, I will."

Ron grinned. "I'm never going to get tired of hearing you say that."


	2. Downpour

**_A/N: Originally written for the Sinfully Romione 7 Deadly Sins fest in the Sloth category (winner). Rated M._**

 **Downpour**

Steady thrumming of rain. Rhythmic breathing; the soft, gentle crinkling of cotton sheets.

Eyes open blearily and search out the clock. Late; too late. Rainclouds blocking the daylight, tricking the eye. Reports, memos, notes...

A hand sliding up her side, calloused fingers stroking her skin, a voice rough from sleep.

"Not getting up, are you?"

Fingers splaying over her stomach, slipping higher. Warm lips on her shoulder; moaning at the featherlight touch circling, teasing.

"Mmmm, have to. So much to do."

Gust of wind; gasping as fingers find slippery heat. Easy, open, body pliant and sleep-soft.

"Bollocks."

Mattress shifts, dips. Fingers twining through silky ginger hair, flexing, guiding.

The hum of words against her flesh.

"Be lazy."

Flash of lightning, electricity racing through her veins. Strong fingers delving, relentless pulsing pleasure. Writhing, grasping, body arching. Crying out to the rain-soaked heavens.

Shallow breathing, the warmth of a body stretching out next to her.

Raindrops drumming on the windowpane.

Then: twisting, pushing, swinging over. Large freckled hands gripping hips, fingertips pressing into heated skin. Sinking, stretching, smiling at his low moan.

"But not _too_ lazy."

A distant roll of thunder; the storm is far from over.


End file.
